


When I watch the world burn, all I think about is you

by theleftboobgrabber



Series: Tumblr fics [10]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Battle Couple, Christopher Diaz is a National Treasure, Drift Compatibility, Enemies to Lovers, Kinda, M/M, POV Eddie Diaz, POV Evan "Buck" Buckley, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, buckley siblings feels, buddie is drift compatible fight me on this, overprotective Bobby Nash, the horny side of "the deeper the bond the harder you fight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24870223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleftboobgrabber/pseuds/theleftboobgrabber
Summary: The world is ending and of course that's when Buck meets the man of his dream.“Must be hard doing-” he stops, gesturing helplessly at the conn-pod, the Jaeger, the Shatterdome, the apocalyptic world beyond it, “all this with a kid at home.”Diaz nods. “He’s in Texas with my abuela right now. It’s… yeah, it’s hard.” Buck can see his eyes go misty, before Diaz shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “But it’s better than a coastal city. I know why I’m fighting. I don’t want him to grow up like we did, on the brink of extinction.”And okaaaay. Buck can definitely see why Bobby’s all over that guy.(Buck, perhaps, JUST PERHAPS, wants to be all over that guy too. In ways that Bobby would neither encourage or approve)Buddie Pacific Rim AU
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Bobby Nash, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Maddie Buckley, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Maddie Buckley/Howie "Chimney" Han
Series: Tumblr fics [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/446650
Comments: 101
Kudos: 164





	1. adrift

**Author's Note:**

> prompt was: _If you’re still doing prompts for buddie I have one I think. I saw you reblogging Pacific Rim and you know Eddie is Raleigh. Maybe him and Sharon were drift compatible before she died from the Kaiju attack. And Bobby is Pentecost totally taking Eddie in right away while Buck/Mako have been doing everything in his power to get recognition from everyone but especially from Bobby._
> 
> @anon, i hope you like this
> 
> tittle from Doom Days by Bastille

“No.” The word is cinglant enough, like a slap to the face, but Bobby’s intransigent face is the proverbial nail in the coffin.

Buck stands there in his office for a second, struck dumb by the word, by Bobby’s refusal, by the reality and finality of it. His first instinct is to run and cower in the nearest utility closet and cry his eyes out. His second instinct? To push back. Hard.

And that's the thing: he’s been doing the former since he was injured, swallowing back all that anger and frustration and fear, letting Bobby get his way and cut him off. He thought if he was good enough, if he behaved, if he worked hard, he would be back in his Jaeger in no time. After all, Bobby could be reasoned with, and would change his mind when proven wrong.

Buck was good. He behaved. He worked hard. His leg was fine, he had crushed his psych eval.  _ He was ready.  _

But Bobby’s still refusing him to be back to active duty.

They’re well past Buck nodding and wobbling his way through a “okay Bobby, I trust you, we’ll talk again in a week,” like the last time they had this conversation.

Fuck that..

“ _ No?  _ So you’re-” he chokes on the words, anger and pain mixing wrong, birthing sometimes foul right in his mouth, “you’re giving  _ my Jeager _ to a PTSD ridden know-it-all that isn’t drift compatible with anyone in this entire base?!” he shouts at Bobby’s face.

Bobby’s eyes widen in surprise at being talked back, before they thin dangerously. “You’re going to have to think very carefully about what you say next,  _ ranger _ .”

Oh, they’re at that point of the argument, where they drop the first name basis, the  _ son  _ and the  _ pops _ . Buck nods to himself.  _ Okay, I can play the same tune _ .

“I’m drift compatible with three people here,” he reminds Bobby. “I know that Jaeger like the back of my hand. It’s mine, I sweated and bled in it, I killed more Kaijus with you than most teams could ever hope. I’ve been ready for this since the day I was born. Why are you pushing me out now,  _ Marshal _ ?”

The use of his rank just spurs Bobby on. “You’re not ready for active duty!” he shouts.

Buck rolls his eyes at him, at his anger, his fucking certainty, his stars and stripes and the pain he dares let show on his face, like Bobby’s the one hurting over this.“Just because _ you  _ worry doesn’t mean I’m not at 100%. And just because you can’t pilot a Jaeger anymore doesn’t mean you have the right to hold me back!” he retorts.

“You nearly died, Buck. Your leg-”

“Fuck my leg!” Buck shouts. “I’m fine. I’m ready! Out there, in the world, helping people. That’s where I belong. That’s where I have spent five months fighting to get back to. And now, you’re just gonna tell me I-I can’t?”

Bobby’s nostrils flare and he opens his mouth… but he just stops, shaking his head and breaking eye contact. Like it’s not worth it. Like Buck isn’t worth it. “You’re expected in maintenance for your shift I believe. Don’t make me call security, Buck.”

Just like that, he sits back behind his desk, attention on his computer. Done.

Buck blinks a few times, unsteady. He expected a fight, not… this.

The shock wears out and he exits the office without another word, rage and pain crushing his throat and his lungs and his heart like physical hands around them, squeezing all the air out.

Outside, in the opscenter where the flurry of activity never stops, people give him wary looks. Oh. They probably could hear the shouting through the door. He shakes his head at his sister and Josh, at the other J-tech technicians he’s known and adored for years and storms out of there, making himself not care about the pity on their faces.

He doesn’t go to work.  _ Fuck maintenance _ . No, he goes to hangar 4, breathing ragged the whole way down until the blast doors open, revealing the massive feet of Flashfire Saint.

The bright fire truck paint job tugs at the corner of his lips, forcing half smile out of him. It’s impossible for him not to feel better around  _ his  _ Jaeger. 

He doesn’t wait around long enough for someone to spot him hanging here and takes the maintenance elevator to the conn-pod hatch. Thankfully, his credentials haven’t been retracted. A lucky oversight no doubt, but part of Buck actually believes they have been, and Saint just decided to ignore it and let him in anyway. 

(He swears-  _ he swears  _ she’s alive, that parts of him and Bobby stayed behind even after they disconnected their minds from her. Bobby thinks he’s crazy of course, and Maddie just nods with that  _ oh Buck  _ smile of hers, but Chim said he saw his and Hen’s Jaeger, Asclepius Blues, move by himself. Buck believed him in a heartbeat, even if it’s possible Chim was pulling his leg. To Buck, there is no doubt,  _ something stays in the drift and in the Jaegers,  _ brain waves, fragments of souls, whatever. Something human and beautiful) 

He enters the conn-pod, hand trailing against the walls, reverent, missing the weight of his armor on him. This is home. This is peace. This is  _ his _ .

And that fucker Diaz is just here to take it all away.

***“

Uh, Buckley? Buckley, wake up.”

Buck blinks himself awake, taking too much time to realise whose pretty face is crouching near him, soft concern painted on his fucking pretty face.

(That’s  _ pretty face  _ TWICE! Buck knows. Buck wishes he wasn’t affected. Buck is blinking stupidly at Diaz. Buck NEEDS TO STOP  _ NOW _ )

Eventually, Buck rolls around, panic setting his heart beat to a raging drum, and grabs the jacket he used as a pillow as he goes and puts some much needed distance between him and Diaz.

One of Diaz’s eyebrows arches a little, but he doesn’t say a thing. The man is in his fatigues, a bag slung across his chest, perfect military bearing, just patiently waiting for Buck to compose himself. 

Buck huffs, shaking his head at…  _ this _ . The whole Pan Pacific Defense Corps golden boy thing he has. You can almost see the medals on his chest if you squint hard enough. Buck doesn’t have medals, despite his results, except informal ones for his insubordination problem.

He must have been staring at Diaz for too long, because both his eyebrows are now lost in the tousled, sweaty hair half plastered on his forehead.

( _ Which is. so. not. attractive, shut up Maddie _ )

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Buck snarls, way too loud, voice echoing around them like a stray bullet ricocheting on the conn-pod walls. Deep down, he knows his anger should be aimed at Bobby, but everyone knows Buck was never so good at target practice or seeing faults in his adoptive father.

“Wanted a quiet place for lunch,” Diaz shrugs, not rising to Buck’s bait,  _ never rising to Buck’s bait _ , but eyeing him warily, apparently still not getting why Buck hates his gut.

“This is my-”

“Jaeger,” Diaz finishes, not quite rolling his eyes, but the sentiment is there. “I know. I heard that before, the first time we met you did call me a thief.”

And the amusement in Diaz’s voice? It sucks.

“ _ You are, _ ” he says, hating how petulant he sounds.

Diaz finally rolls his eyes, muttering something Buck can’t hear. It’s probably unflattering.

(He knows he doesn’t deserve much more. Acting like a child against someone that did nothing to him won’t get Buck anything but contempt. He knows. He just… can’t help it)

“Well, we’re both here and I’m not leaving,” Diaz says without heat. “Your dad was hunting me down with a new list of useless recruits that wouldn’t find a Kaiju if it was pounding them in the face.  _ I need a minute _ .”

Buck chuckles at that, despite himself. He clears his throat, trying to disguise it, but Diaz gives him half a grin, knowing exactly what Buck’s doing.

(Infuriating. Buck hates it. Buck… feels… seen. Perhaps. But he hates it. Really)

“Bobby’s not our father,” he says, a knee jerk reaction he inherited from Maddie’s teenage rebellion phase. Truth is, he doesn’t remember Bobby not being his dad, but he still says the words, even if they don’t have any real meaning.

Diaz scoffs. “Sure acts like it.”

He sits down and begins unloading his pack, putting way too much food in front of him, all wrapped and stamped with the PPDC logo, and... two canteens of water.

Buck frowns at that,  _ at the implication _ , at the fact Diaz probably knew he was up here, and packed accordingly. He’s also hungry, having not eaten anything beside the power bar he forced down his throat this morning before speaking with Bobby, too wrecked by nerves to eat anything else. “That’s a lot of food,” he says, hands firmly but  _ very nonchalantly  _ deep in his pockets, only pointing at the rations with his chin. 

Diaz gives him a look, one that says  _ are you thick or something? _

Buck’s used to that look. People tend to believe that him being built like a brick wall is inversely proportional to how smart he is. He rolls his eyes. “I was being polite, Diaz,” he says, getting closer and sitting down, dropping his jacket beside him.

“A first for you.”

Buck opens his mouth to curse him, but stops at the last second. He looks away, feeling tell tale warmth on his cheek. “I guess I deserve that.”

Diaz hums, pushing one canteen of water to him and half the food.

It’s just basic military rations, but Buck doesn’t mind. He can’t remember the last time he had a real, home cooked meal. Perhaps before his parents were killed. Perhaps really early in the Buckleys’ adoption by Bobby, when Maddie was ten and Buck was shy of two. He isn’t sure, which proves that the state of the world is beyond fucked. Humanity has been under constant rationing because of Kaiju attacks and destruction for twenty three years now. Most people would kill for high calorie military rations all around the planet.

“One thing I don’t understand is, why does Marshal Nash want you as far away from a Jaeger as possible?” Diaz asks, cutting to the heart of the subject. He’s pointing at Buck with a piece of dry looking egg roll, eyeing him critically, trying to find a reason, which is quite hilarious because there is none.

Buck looks away. “‘cause the last time we took Saint out, I nearly lost my leg.” He can see the places of the conn-pod that had to be mended or replaced, can still hear the screeches of torn metal and, above those deafening sounds, above the raging sea, he can hear the enraged growls of Leatherback as it was ripping into the conn-pod. “Bobby had to solo pilot for two hours while I was unconscious beside him, bleeding out,” Buck says, throat tightening. He forces his hands still on his knees and not going to the raised scars he can feel through his pants. “He didn’t want me in a Jaeger at all. Never did.”

Diaz nudges him with the tip of his boot. “So… you’re out of commission? Because of your leg, I mean.”

“My leg is just fine,” Buck snaps. “He’s just… scared.”

Diaz doesn’t answer at first, chewing thoughtfully around whatever food he’s eating now. Finally, he says, “I remember when Christopher fell off the swing. First time he was really hurt. He broke his forearm. I was a mess, more scared than he was. Practically wrapped him in bubble wrap for months.”

Buck turns back to him, frowning. “Christopher?”

“My son.” Diaz takes out his phone, thumbs through it for a few seconds and proudly passes it to Buck, smiling so brightly Buck forgets he’s supposed to hate his guts and that he’s being handed something. Looking away from Diaz is… difficult.

But he does and Buck looks down at the phone in his hand.  _ The kid is adorable _ , a head of honey blond curls and a toothy grin that could save the world. He doesn’t look much like Diaz, but the way they smile at each other in the picture says it all.

“Cute kid,” he says a little lamely. “I-I love kids.”

“Yeah, well, I love this one,” Diaz says, accepting the phone back. He looks down at it for a few extra seconds, Buck’s heartstrings tugging at that, before he puts it back in his pocket.

“Must be hard doing-” he stops, gesturing helplessly at the conn-pod, the Jaeger, the Shatterdome, the apocalyptic world beyond it, “all this with a kid at home.”

Diaz nods. “He’s in Texas with my abuela right now. It’s… yeah, it’s hard.” Buck can see his eyes go misty, before Diaz shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “But it’s better than a coastal city. I know why I’m fighting. I don’t want him to grow up like we did, on the brink of extinction.”

_ And okaaaay _ . Buck can definitely see why Bobby’s all over that guy.

(Buck, perhaps, JUST PERHAPS, wants to be all over that guy too. In ways that Bobby would neither encourage or approve)

“Damn, where do I fucking sign,” he jokes without meaning to, but Diaz laughs so hard he snorts his water.

“Yeah yeah, that sounded like a recruitment poster,” he says, laughing still and taking a small bow.

“Sure did,” Buck agrees, before sobering up. “But it’s the truth.”

“But it’s the truth,” Diaz repeats.

“When I was a kid, Bobby was always away but, even when I missed him, even when I was pissed he was away, I knew he loved us. That he missed us. That he was doing it all for us. Your kid knows it too,” Buck hears himself say, needing- needing to reassure Diaz for some goddamn reason.

And the look Diaz throws back at him, surprised, choked with gratitude, it makes Buck feel some kind of way he doesn’t want to examine too closely.

“Chris has a Flashfire Saint poster above his bed,” Diaz says after a moment, looking away. “And a couple action figures. I think he actually plays wedding planner with all the Jaegers. But he likes yours better. The sun might shine out of your ass. If I survive all this, I’m sworn to bring back a signed picture.”

Buck laughs. He can’t help it, he fucking laughs, full belly laughs and ends up on his back, sides and cheeks hurting. “That’s- that’s- that’s the power of a fire truck red paint job,” he cackles. “I’ll sign you a picture. Oh my G-” amusement runs cold in his belly in an instant. “Fuck, stealing my Jaeger must be the sweetest revenge,” he sneers, sourness asphyxiating all amber of joy in him.

Diaz frowns at him. “You do realize I was under the impression we were going to co-pilot her, right? Getting out of forced retirement to team up with  _ recruits  _ wasn’t what I signed up for.”

Buck… Buck doesn’t know what to answer to that. He hoped- shit, when Maddie first told him Bobby had managed to convince Eddie Diaz to participate in their last ditch effort to cancel the apocalypse, Buck had hoped he and Diaz would work together.

And then Bobby had begun throwing recruits at Diaz and kept Buck away from the only thing he was ever good at.

“Well. Bobby’s full of surprise,” he whispers.

They eat in semi comfortable silence for a moment, Buck absolutely not ogling Diaz’s sculpted profile and fucking attractive facial hair whenever he gets the chance; free hand absolutely not flexing at the raw need of pushing his fingers through Diaz’s hair, away from his forehead. The man is hotter than the sun. And if Buck wasn’t so pissed at him for coming here to replace him, he would be gushing at him about his years of services as a PPDC ranger and begging him for stories.

The man and his co-pilot took down three Kaiju category 4 in a year. IN. A. YEAR. They were legends. Absolute badasses, them and their tech crew. They were the kind of rangers the PPDC would put on cereal boxes when they were still such things as cereal boxes. Kids around the world had posters of Diaz and Bosko in their bedrooms. All this Buck had too, the weird fame and the fans, even if Bobby had been judged too old and serious to be as heavily promoted by PPDC’s PR department. Buck wishes he could be as much of a fanboy as he wants to be right now, that Diaz wasn’t a thief taking his place away from him.

(And he knows it’s not quite true, but it’s still fucking the same isn’t it?)

“She doesn’t like me,” Diaz says suddenly, after looking at the Conn-pod harnesses for too long.

“Uh-”

“Flashfire. She doesn’t like me. I can feel it. Like a haunted house,” he says, hand hovering mere inches from the floor without touching it.

Buck buzzes with excitement at his words, but not because of the loyalty of his Jaeger like he thought he would, but because Diaz  _ believes. _

“Well, first off, you called her Flashfire. No one calls her that. _ It’s Saint _ . Always been,” he stresses. He picked the name and the paint and logo font himself, forcing his will on the stupid PR team until they relented. Buck had a clear vision of his Jaeger since age six, thank you very much. “So jot that down-” he stops himself, enthusiasm about talking about his girl hitting a wall. “Wait.  _ When did you strap in?  _ ” and he can’t help the edge of anger bleeding out in his tone.

Diaz winces. “Yesterday. Team got desperate to find a co-pilot for me and decided that a 27.2% drift compatibility was enough.”

Buck swallows around the lump in his throat. No one had told him about this and everyone he knows, everyone he loves,  _ had to know. _

“What happened?” he demands too softly, because words can break bones and hearts, curbing his knee jerk reaction to shout the question.

Diaz’s half suppressed pout says it all, mouth twisting around his face. 

“Couldn’t do it the first few tries. He tried real hard to keep most of him out of the drift. Idiot. Third attempt, we did manage to hold the neural handshake for three whole minutes before your Saint decided to get fussy. Couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything,” Diaz grumbles, embarrassed. “It was- not great.”

Buck chuckles. “Performance fright?”

“Please. I’ve been in a Conn-pod since I was twenty. I swear I could feel resistance. She’s loyal, I give you that, but I never felt like a fraud before.”

And Buck… Buck preens a little, discreetly patting the floor beside him. Saint was his in a way people couldn't understand. He had been right there as she was being developed in Frankfort to her being shipped to LA, factory pristine and perfect. No one beside him and Bobby had ever piloted her.

And now Bobby was punishing Buck for his own fears and insecurities.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a pilot actually agree with me about Jaeger ghosting,” he says, feeling like he at least has to find common ground and not be a jealous jerk for five minutes.

Diaz smiles, a little shy. “I’m pretty sure I got laughed at every time I said something about it,” he assures Buck, right hand going to his left shoulder and massaging it like it’s bothering him. “It was… weird, not being in  _ my  _ Jaeger.”

Buck knows what is under the long sleeved henley, having caught a glimpse of the circuit-like scarring of melted skin there and down his left pec when he -mistakenly!- entered the wrong quarters and found himself in front of a shirtless Eddie Diaz.

He read the mission reports, saw the pictures.  _ Hollering Desert  _ ’s left arm had been ripped out at the shoulder and it had overloaded the circuitry in the inner conductive suit Jaeger pilot wore under the protective armor, burning Diaz to the deepest layer of his skin.

Buck’s scars up his leg are different. The last Kaiju fight he was in, the bastard clawed up his way through Saint’s head and the conn-pod. His leg was left shattered in five places and Bobby… Bobby has the overloading circuitry scars etched all over his body to prove the two hours long fight he managed to win, alone.

“Does it hurt?” he hears himself ask.

“Not as much as it used to,” Diaz says, knowing instinctively what Buck is asking. “Not as much as feeling my co-pilot getting ripped out of my head and killed. I died with her. And then I didn’t. I still expect to see Lena when I turn around.”

Buck makes a face.

“What?” Diaz asks.

“No, it’s just… I didn’t know you and Bosko had a kid together,” he says. That explains why Diaz’s kid is living with his abuela.

Diaz’s mood sours, and the laugh he barks is joyless. “Lena and I?  _ Lena?  _ The girl that would flirt with every woman I ever flirted with and get them home instead of me? That Lena Bosko? Nope. My ex and I have been divorced for years. Before- all that,” he explains, gesturing at his arm. “Shannon, she- she never forgave me for signing up for PPDC in the first place. Just wanted to pack up and go to Texas. Chris was… five? when we divorced. It was for the best. Lena and I weren’t together like that, but what was the point of talking to my own wife and failing at communicating when someone was already in my head, knowing everything there was to know? The drift is unfair to people outside of it. And I was worse.”

And oh. Okay. That’s...  _ Okay  _ . Buck hadn’t expected his lunch break to be this heavy. After carefully rewrapping it, he puts down the dry jerky on his jacket, not hungry anymore. 

Bobby had been… an okay father. Kinda distant, kinda absent. Jaeger pilots didn’t have much life outside of that. Buck knew why he was busy, knew Bobby wasn’t faking the affection and the sadness in his eyes when he had to leave him and Maddie, but kids need words. It had changed when Buck started drifting with him. All the love and worry and pride for him and Maddie, shining bright and strong, just waiting for Buck in the drift. It’s sad it was a little bit of a surprise, the whole of it unsaid, but at least it was there. And Bobby, who had spent the last twenty years in a Jaeger, never had expressed it out loud, failing to see he needed to.

Buck’s eyes are anywhere but Diaz.

“They’re bringing more last minute recruits tomorrow,” Diaz says pointedly. No experience. Barely any training. No drift compatibility to speak off. Marshal Nash is grasping at miracles.” 

Buck rolls his eyes, but refuses to say anything back. Bobby’s being stupid and overprotective, and it’s going to cost them the fight for humanity’s right to survive.

“Instead of feeling sorry for yourself, you should come to the combat compatibility test,” Diaz continues, gathering his stuff and quickly standing. “At least for entertainment value.”

Buck snorts. “Well, if I can see you be tripped and fall on your ass-”

“Believe me, Buck,” Diaz cuts, eyes intense and boring in his, “I’m the one putting people on their asses.”

Buck swallows, hard. Fuck Diaz and his sexy confidence. He throws at his retreating form, “The goal of the exercise isn’t to throw anyone on their asses Diaz! It’s to-” but Diaz’s already gone, and Buck finishes petulantly, “prove drift compatibility.” He flops down on the conn-pod’s floor. “ _ Shit  _ .”


	2. equilibrium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? using this fic as a big Fuck You to the lawsuit story line? you bet

Buck makes his way to the Kwoon training room unhurriedly, managing his mood and jealousy by making turns and detours, taking his time and pretending that it’s not his destination, that he doesn’t care. He’s fine. Just fiiiiine. Peachy. 

He’s not, the unfairness of the situation slowly but surely eating at him the closer he gets to the training room. Twenty-eight is pretty young to develop an fucking ulcer, but it’s most certainly a sure thing on the way with the acidic bile climbing his throat and the constant pain in his stomach. The worst is that he doesn’t want Diaz to fail,  _ hell, he needs him to succeed _ , but he would rather be the one piloting Saint when it’s all said and done.

It really dawns on him around detour number three that he and Diaz might have teamed up to pilot Saint if Bobby was less of an overprotective,  _ I will take down my fears for you ON YOU  _ kind of father. Of course, there’s the drift compatibility problem to account for, but if the PPDC is willing to send recruits with less than a 27.02% match with Diaz to combat, he and Buck might have had a decent chance to be better than that.

But Buck wasn't even considered a valid option to pilot his own Jaeger.

“ _ I was born for this”,  _ Buck blurts out loud in the empty elevator taking him down to the training center. Small mercy, there’s no mirror lining the walls. Buck doesn’t need to see how pathetic he looks -meeting his own eyes might be a challenge, actually. 

( _ Useless. Useless. Useless _ . That’s what’s left of him)

He shakes his head. To think he used to be happy, he used to bounce around the Shatterdome like he was owning the place, poking and annoying and learning and living his best life. He used to laugh without an edge to it, used to hope of winning and a better world. 

When he realized that Bobby could never pilot a Jaeger again because of the damage solo piloting had done to his body, Buck had been heart broken. For Bobby, for himself. It wasn’t death, nothing like Diaz had experimented when Bosko died, but it was a loss nevertheless. Getting a new co-pilot was an impossible idea to wrap his head around, but Buck held on, pushing himself during his PT sessions to get back in fighting shape, knowing where his place was. His calling. Then Bobby had made it clear that since he was benched, Buck was to be as well. Forever.

Bobby took his job like it was just that… a job. But it was never just a job. It was _ purpose _ . It was pride and responsibility. It was being able to fight hurricanes before they wrecked everything in their wakes. It was Buck’s life.

And Bobby had robbed him from it.

***

The training room is packed when he finally gets there: Chim and Hen and the handful of surviving rangers, Saint’s tech crew with their red bomber jackets who nod to Buck with tight smiles on their faces, workers, random military in dress uniforms; all shoulder to shoulder, lining up the walls and sitting cross legged to the very edge of the mat like someone is ready to turn down the lights and start some kind of show. 

_ We’re only missing the popcorn _ . Buck huffs in annoyance.  _ This isn’t supposed to be a spectacle _ .

That being said, he understands the drive. They all need this to work, to witness a miracle. One more Jaeger in the field would completely change the odds of success of destroying the breach and that’s the last option -the only option- they have left to save the world. Buck needs that miracle too.

It takes him one quick glance at the six recruits lining up on the mat and Diaz opposite them to know it won’t happen. 

The recruits are… well, greener than grass, but that had to be expected. The last PPDC rangers in the world with experience are in this room, already paired up like Hen and Chim, Athena and Micheal; out of commission like Bobby; or  _ kept out of commission by Bobby _ , like Buck.

And then there’s Diaz, which is obviously the major problem in this equation. The recruits might just be that, but everyone starts somewhere. It’s unfair to ask so much out of them and try to pair them up with a ranger veteran, a minute away from total annihilation of the human race.

_ Especially this ranger veteran _ , Buck thinks.

They haven’t even started the drills and Diaz’s already lording over them, no patience, no encouraging grin, nothing to spare them. It’s a dire contrast to the man Buck got to see yesterday in Saint’s conn-pod, who laughed and was so alive, who teased, but still tried to play nice with Buck, despite the way Buck had been treating him like a pariah since he arrived the week before.

Diaz’s attitude is setting the recruits on edge, pacing like a lion in his cage in front of a group of baby antelopes, twirling his bo staff impatiently like he cannot wait to send them packing. 

How did he put it yesterday? _ Useless recruits that wouldn’t find a Kaiju if it was pounding them in the face  _ . Uh huh. His opinion radiates off him so clearly more than one candidate is looking a bit disheartened.

The worst is… Buck gets it. He isn’t sure if he would be better than Diaz at this. The man has twelve years as a Jaeger pilot under his belt. Fresh out of the academy recruits are just not gonna cut it for him. He needs an equal, not a kid to babysit, especially with the mission that awaits them.

Unfortunately for Buck, getting anywhere without being spotted is difficult. Six feet two will get you noticed whether you want it or not, especially by the man who raised you and knows you inside and out -literally. He feels Bobby’s piercing eyes on him before he can sit down in a corner, before he can even spot the man.

When he turns his head, Bobby doesn’t even have to move or emote anything, because Buck knows better than to stay where he is and so he makes his way to Bobby, who’s flanked by both Maddie and Josh.

Bobby is as rigid as an unforgiving steel bar wearing a uniform, impeccable and implacable. It’s hard to see a person and not just a wall standing between Buck and his calling. There are no creases, no little fuzz, just perfect lines that make Bobby seem bigger and healthier. It’s easy to forget, even for Buck, that Bobby’s is so wrecked under his dress uniform.

(Buck doesn’t remember it himself, but Maddie love to recount to everyone she meets that when he was little, he used to get into Bobby’s room and put on his dress jacket with all the medals and stripes, the entire thing drowning him ridiculously. He would play around the house for hours, fighting imaginary Kaiju -the nanny he hated, couches, vacuum cleaner, Maddie herself when she didn’t give him sweets, and every random thing that was taller than he was- beating them with a wooden spoon. The hero worship had been real)

Both Maddie and Josh are wearing their firetruck red button downs with Flashfire Saint’s logo on the breast pocket, the cartoon flames and halo surrounding her name tugging a smile out of Buck despite his mood, until he’s reminded he doesn’t match anymore.

It’s dumb perhaps, but he misses the weight of the firetruck red bomber jacket he used to wear all the time and bother Bobby to put on as well so they would match. Teams had matching colors, everyone knew that.

Every time they put down a Kaiju, Buck would take both jackets to Maddie’s and beg her to stitch a new dead Kaiju logo on the arms, a new notch on the belt so to speak. And since she was the best sister ever, she would just roll her eyes a little, but do it anyway, Chim nagging by her side that he and Hen just spray painted their own jackets with a stencil and called it a day.

“Yeah and the paint runs down and chips away and it’s  _ ugly _ ,” Buck would say, Maddie quietly laughing at the recurrent argument, sewing away.

And Chim would threaten, “Maddie, give me back my ring.”

“We’re not getting a divorce just because Buck called your jacket ugly, Howie.”

“ _ We might _ .”

When he gets to them, he stands by Maddie’s side, who quickly elbows him in the ribs. “ _ You got fired _ ,” she snarls under her breath, and shit, she’s pissed.

He shrugs, electing to play dumb. “I know that-”

“No. From your job in maintenance,” she fires back. “Absenteeism doesn’t look good on you, Buck.”

“The world’s gonna end,” he answers carelessly, eyes on the ceiling. “I've got more to worry about than unemployment.”

She elbows him again.

Being a child of the apocalypse made him a little callus about this, but Maddie remembers a world that wasn’t on the brink of death. He’s not sure which of them is luckier.

To their right, Bobby announces a name and a candidate steps forward, saluting Diaz. The rookie’s hands are shaking on his bo staff as Diaz does the same, and… Diaz’s posture is technically fine, but God it’s like he can’t help but telegraph his disdain for the recruit.

It makes sense.  _ I still expect to see Lena when I turn around _ , Diaz had said. 

Buck is lucky Bobby survived, even if their relationship hasn’t been the same since their last Kaiju fight. As much as he wants to be back in a Jaeger, he knows deep in his bones, down to his soul, that drifting with someone else- just considering it for real makes him feel strange. He’s never been so good at letting things or people go.

The match (if you even can call it that) is over after a few passes, Diaz sending the guy to the mat four times in a row, never letting him have a chance, unrelenting and to the point. He doesn’t look glad or triumphant or even a touch smug, and no cruelty either. Nothing. There’s nothing there, just void and going through the motion with cold efficiency.

Buck can’t help but admire the shift of his arm muscles, the lean and powerful lines of his body, the shape of his ass in his fatigues.  _ Who even has an ass so great shapeless military fatigues can’t hide it? Eddie fucking Diaz, apparently _ . The man is so unfairly attractive and, if Buck is being honest, so fucking competent that it might require it’s own inappropriate boner _. _

What he wouldn’t give for a chance to fight him, just because, just to see what happens… Buck forces the craving down, and his hands down his pockets, feeling the phantom shape of a bo staff in them.

Maddie elbows him again and he does it back really really softly, minding her condition. She chuckles, aware of what he’s doing and presses a tablet against his side, forcing him to take it or being endlessly poked.

The thing is, Diaz’s naked arms are barely twenty feet away from him, calling to him and his vivid imagination of all sorts of physical activity they could get up to. It takes him a long moment to stop looking at the man and the patch of dark chest hair visible with how low his tank top neckline is distressed out of shape. Actually, Maddie has to elbow him again for Buck to tear down his eyes away from Diaz.

Finally, he glances down at Maddie’s tablet, only half curious.  _ Blah blah blah, drift compatibility, blah blah _ \- he fakes a yawn, continues reading, swipes down, skipping half of it -it’s all redacted anyway.

“Maddie wh-”

That when he sees the chart. It breaks Buck’s mind a little, leaving him frowning and gaping down at the screen. 61% drift compatibility is astonishingly high. He and Bobby only had 42% and Hen and Chim are seen as exceptions at 55%. Usually scores that high are for siblings or couples, like Athena and Micheal who despite their divorce have been co-piloting Styx Patrol for nineteen years.

He turns his head toward Maddie and she looks smug as hell. Ooooooh how he wishes they were kids still so he could shout  _ TELL ME YOUR SECRET! TELL ME YOUR SECRET!  _ right into her ear until she cave.

He’s so shocked by the percentage he misses the second fight entirely, only looking up in time for Diaz to take down the recruit with the same detached ruthlessness as the first.

“Which one is it?” Buck asks his sister in a whisper, searching the remaining candidates’ faces for something…  _ something _ .

“Oh, you’ll see,” she returns in the same manner, smugness dripping from her voice. “I can tell you he’s impressive.”

Buck glances at the line of nervous cadets again. None of them seem _ impressive _ , especially not relative to Diaz, who dwarf them without even trying. They’re too young, too inexperienced, too- Buck snorts. Too starstruck by Diaz, his reputation, his service records, the melted scars on his arm... or simply worried about bruises.

By the fourth one going down without challenging Diaz one bit and him giving them no quarter, Buck’s rolling his eyes so hard he’s shaking with it.

_ This… this is your miracle _ ,  _ Bobby,  _ he thinks sourly,  _ your last attempt at getting one more Jaeger team to assault the breach that’s letting out Kaiju after Kaiju into our world _ .  _ And I’m just wasted on the sideline. _

“Okay, do you have a problem?” Diaz calls from where he’s standing, barely sweating -this hasn't exactly been a workout. A brisk walk, perhaps?

It takes Buck a second to realize Diaz is addressing him.  _ Challenging him _ . “Nope, nothing wrong,” he quips, feeling Bobby’s disapproval from where he’s standing.

Diaz gives him  _ a look _ , eyes staying on him way too long before he asks for recruit number five to join in on the mat with the most dismissive wave of hand in human history. It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic.

Now number five, he got wise. After all, he saw four different guys go down in quick succession under Diaz's precise take downs. It would be impossible that none of the last recruits could at least evade Diaz long enough to manage to land one blow on him.

_ One _ . That's all number five gets.

But instead of making Diaz give the guy a chance, it spurs him on, and the cold ruthlessness turns aggressive in every blow and the takedowns are hedging on too much. 

Diaz passes his bow staff behind the recruit’s knee and trips him down, staff immediately going against his throat in what would be a deadly blow in a real combat situation.

Buck shakes his head, ready to make his exit. There’s only one recruit left and he’s looking so pale it’s sickening. No miracle is happening today, or ever, and the last ditch effort to destroy the breach and save the world will have to make do with two Jaegers instead of three.

“So what, you don’t like them?” Diaz calls again from the mat, freezing Buck in place. “Every time I take one of them down, you look pissed,” he accuses, and this time he is talking to Bobby, hands resting on his bo staff and working his jaw in annoyance. “Didn’t you select them yourself?  _ It’s on you if they don’t perform as needed _ .” 

“Diaz-” Bobby warns, but Buck takes a step toward him, cutting the Marshal off. 

“It’s not their performances that are the problem,  _ it’s yours _ .” Buck’s stomach churns around, bile in his throat, knowing it’s not exactly true, but Diaz’s no effort attitude isn’t helping.

Diaz’s eyebrow shoots up. “Mine?” there’s no outrage, no anger in his voice,  _ just slight amusement _ .

It pisses Buck off to no end, that Diaz’s feathers seem unruffled.

“Drift isn’t a fight, it’s a conversation,” Buck criticizes. He shouldn’t have to say that to someone with more experience in a Jaeger than him… there’s something wrong here, but he can’t place it.

Behind him, he hears Maddie clear her throat, no doubt addressing Bobby since her voice isn’t loud enough to carry through the training room. “If I may, perhaps we can change this up-”

Diaz doesn’t let her finish and points his bo staff at Buck, “how about you and I have some words then.”

_ And yes _ , Buck would like that very, very much. He doesn’t know if it’s the anger or the jealousy or the… very manageable lust (negligible really!), but his entire body is buzzing with the need to spar with Diaz. Hell, he wouldn’t even know to whom he would be proving himself? To Bobby? To himself? Or to Diaz?

The crowd is a muttering mess all around them, nervous and excited, waiting for the lighting to drop and Bobby’s voice like thunder, cutting through the chatter and Buck’s zeroing on Diaz’s eyes, getting lost in them. “ _ No _ . We stick to the cadet list we have, Ranger. Only candidates with drift compati-”

“ _ Which they have _ ,” Maddie interrupts loudly. “61% shouldn’t be chalked up.”

Buck turns around swiftly to look at her. Fucking incredible to be blindsided by his own sister! Then, the reality of the situation catches up with him. He and Diaz are in theory drift compatible.  _ Stupidly so _ .

He glances at Bobby, ready to beg, but Bobby seems as unmovable and forbidding as he was when Buck last talked to him yesterday,  _ no  _ already forming on his lips.

“What’s that Marshal, you don’t think your own co-pilot can cut it in the ring with me?” Diaz taunts.

No.  _ Baits _ .

Suddenly, it’s very clear to Buck what’s happening here: the utter trashing of the candidates; the low effort on Diaz's part to make a connection with any of them; the ridiculous number of people in attendance… adding that to Diaz seeking him out yesterday to play nice.  _ Someone  _ really wants to force Bobby’s hand on this and Buck could kiss his sister right now, but he also thinks,  _ to be fair  _ , he should kiss Diaz as well, ‘cause he has to be on it.

Bobby either doesn’t see the trap or realizes he can’t have his way without humiliating Buck further in front of everyone Buck has every loved and ever loved him. He blinks a few times, owlish, not liking any of this it’s obvious. 

It takes him a few seconds of dreadful silence to make a decision, all of them heavily felt, rejection and pain slowly constricting at Buck’s throat with their icy hands. When he meets Buck’s eyes, Bobby says “Go.”

It’s just a letter. Just a letter between  _ go  _ and  _ no _ , between hope and crushing despair. Buck’s relief almost chokes him, a physical punch to the gut. He doesn't care that there’s no enthusiasm in that word, just heavy reluctance. It’s a chance, and he’s gonna take it.

Buck hasn’t really sparred with anyone since his last fight against a 267 feet tall, 2900 tons Kaiju, answering to the lovely name of Leatherback. 

Recovery had been slow with his leg shattered and PT had been a real bitch to go through, but one thing Buck was, was headstrong.  _ To a fault  _ . So he got better, and then he got better than he was before nearly dying, training and training and training. He had put on muscle mass, needing to be stronger. Then, when Bobby had said no to his active duty reinstatement for the first time, Buck had continued pushing and pushing the limits of his body as a distraction, as some kind of misguided proof he was ready to jump through the hoops.

No one really could spar with him at his level, except for Chim and Hen, but as the last Jaeger team defending the entire North America’s pacific coast line since Buck and Bobby were injured, they really didn’t have the time.

So Buck’s feeling the pressure right now, with hundreds of eyes on him. He can’t fuck this up. All the last two months of begging and fighting to be back and he’s finally given a chance. He can’t blow it. He won’t.

He sits his ass down, shrugs off his hoodie, long sleeved t-shirt going off next so he’s only wearing a tank top and tries to make quick work of his boots, internally groaning at the way he laced them up so tight this morning he can barely undo them now.

Beside him, Maddie gets down to his head level to catch his attention.

“Try and keep the heart eyes to a minimum,” she whispers before patting his shoulder.

“ _ Thank you _ . For this. For- for everything, okay?” he says, evading her teasing.

She rolls her eyes. “Buckleys stick together. Always,” she says, presenting him with her pinky.

“I mean, you’re half Han now, but yeah,” he jokes, pinky swearing with her, his massive hand looking quite ridiculous next to hers.

“And you’re half a pain in my ass,” she retorts, getting back up, her pregnant belly now right next to his head.

If Buck has to die in the breach to give his sister a world where she can raise hers and Chim’s kid, he will. Gladly.

When he’s done with his stupid boots and his stupid laces, he takes his socks off and gets up, rolling his head on his shoulders and goes through a few stretches. Just stepping on the mat where Diaz is waiting for him has his heart beating faster.

Diaz… Diaz is giving him whiplash, a dire contrast again, disdain and impatience gone, evaporated. He's just standing there, shoulders decontracted and loose, waiting for Buck with two bo staves like they have all the time in the world.

He throws one to Buck and it’s not… it’s not a low blow, not thrown too lazily Buck has to run or it would hit the mat, and not throws with too much force to assert dominance.

Buck expected something like that -he’s been a real ass to Diaz after all, using him like a punching ball ‘cause Bobby’s just… too fucking complicated. 

God, he missed the weight of a training staff in his hands, the cool touch of wood quickly warming up against his palms, and he can’t help the genuine smile that breaks on his face.

He can do this. He has to.

As he passes Diaz to get in position, the other man says, “it’s a dialogue, not a fight,” and the audacity of the man, parroting Buck’s words at him with a cocky grin! “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you.”

“Oh, so  _ I  _ get the Texan swagger?” he answers in kind, hand going to his heart, “I feel special.”

Diaz chuckles and  _ fuck _ , he’s cute and gives back as good as Buck can. “You should,” he says, pushing back his hair away from his forehead.

Buck can hear Bobby clearing his throat twenty feet away (or it’s just in his head, he’s not sure), but he can sure as hell feel the faint blush on his cheeks nevertheless.

Once they have taken their places on either side of the mat, eyes locked, Buck clears his throat… it’s weird, but… quiet certainty settles in his stomach. He’s not gonna survive this, win or loss.

They don’t wait for Bobby to tell them to begin, too enthralled by the other, too ready to get to it.

Buck’s the first one to move, eager to show off and work his body. A few strong poses, advancing to Diaz and moving the staff around him like a tornado before planting his feet on the mat, decided on waiting for Diaz to come move him.

And he’s… as eager to play as Buck, using his bo staff like a sword, foot work so  _ immaculate  _ Buck might go cross eyed with all the staring he’s doing.

They stand a few feet apart, holding their ground, waiting each other out, waiting, wai- Diaz attacks, lightning fast, a perpendicular blow stopping mere millimeters from Buck’s forehead.

Buck knew it was coming, knew he could evade it with ease, his body almost vaulting out of range by reflex. But sometimes proving you’re not afraid of pain and a little bruising is more important than avoiding them. It’s a small concession. Just a point.

Buck doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move and their eyes have yet to unlock. The slight there and gone smirk tugging at Diaz mouth is enough.

“One-zero,” Diaz breathes, bo staff still so close to Buck’s skin he swears he can feel it.

Suddenly Buck retaliates with all the strength he has, swinging his staff and knocking Diaz’s out of the way, leaving him open and unprotected. Buck’s mirror the perpendicular strike and stops just as close from Diaz’s forehead -he might worry he didn’t stop in time if Diaz wasn’t grinning. 

Their positions are now reversed, and he can’t help the cocky “one-one” that comes out of his mouth

Buck stays in his space for a second, having way too much fun, before he mimics sheathing his staff like a sword at his side and he takes a step back. 

Before he can posture a little, before he can ground himself, Diaz actually hits him with a lateral blow to the left ribs out of nowhere. It’s nothing more than a tap really, but the groan that escapes Buck when the staff makes contact is…  _ Shit  _ . He can feel the blow echoing inside him, rattling things lose, echoing still, growing, heartbeat picking up... down to his dick.

What-  _ what did Maddie tell me again?  _ Something important, but right now Buck’s brain is kinda fried. 

This is going to be a problem.

“Two-one, Buck.”

Where was this Diaz when the recruits were fighting him? Though fight is too generous of a word for what they did. Buck almost feels bad for them. Almost. He rather have this Diaz just for himself you see, a playful little shit, twirling his bo staff away and stepping a couple of feet back, cocky smile on his lips and looking at Buck- some kind of way that’s flushing Buck’s cheek. It’s impossible the man doesn’t know how fucking much Buck wants him right now.

They’re back at gauging each other from afar, and Buck knows  _ this is it _ , no matter what Bobby says. This has gone longer than the previous fights, and they’re not remotely close to done.

Diaz comes at him with force, a perfect diagonal cut that would slice through anything with the proper weapon, but he’s met with Buck holding strong, staff against staff. Despite the shock itself reverberating down his arms and shoulders, the sound and the force of it make Buck smile like a loon.

Before Diaz can disengage and regroup, Buck gambits and twists left, letting him be carried forward by momentum and knocks his staff out of the way, on the offensive now, and then it’s… like a drumming inside of Buck, exchanging blow after blow after blow, forcing Diaz to step back and relent ground to him.

Putting Diaz on the defensive is a victory in itself, as not one recruit managed to really do so in the five previous matches. It’s a relentless assault Diaz fights against well, until he falls out of rhythm and Buck catches him drawing back, leaving himself wide open-

Buck’s staff brushes Diaz’s forehead again.

Oooooh, he looks sour for a second at being played, eyebrows drawn together and eyes narrowing, but he shakes it easily, playfulness blooming back on his face and the way he holds himself.

“Two-two,” Buck pops at him and God, he wishes he could tone down both the cockiness and suggestiveness in his voice, but he can’t, ridiculously helpless against Diaz’s… everything. “Better watch it,” he adds, hopping away from retaliation.

Diaz is still frozen in that playful  _ you fucking got me  _ smile, but he blinks it out, refocusing.

“Ooh, I’m watching,” he assures, sending shivers down Buck’s spine.

They’re locked again in a staring match, poses mirroring the other, waiting waiting wait- Diaz throws himself widely at Buck, using the speed he has on him, attacking him one handed in careless, lightning fast strikes that forces Buck to give up more and more ground, paring each attack like his life depends on it, guessing and near missing a block, another, incapable of standing up his ground more than a few seconds, until suddenly Diaz has two hands on his staff and throws a massive strike Buck barely meets, surprised by the change of pace and force.

The blow is so strong the staves bounce off each other, rattling Buck’s wrists and making Diaz wince and grunt.

Buck’s taller and stronger though, having pounds on Diaz and when he hits back, he rains down blow after blow on him, sparring him nothing, giving him the full strength of him. He alternates between sweeping strikes and quick jabs that only meet the air -Diaz’s so fast on his feet it’s driving Buck crazy. 

But damn if it isn’t Buck’s kind of dance. 

For a moment, they’re stuck, neither of them able to find a true opening and Buck… Buck doesn’t care. He can’t stop grinning, because Diaz is sweating now just as he is, the sheen of it covering his arms, calling to him, the play of corded muscles so freaking beautiful Buck’s losing IQ points just staring at them. And the way his black tank top is glued to his skin? Sinful. Fuck, if Buck could get his hands on Diaz… he would peel back his shirt to see the rest of him and worship it with his mouth and tongue and hands, he would unbuckle his stupid belt and-

_ Keep it in your pants Buckley! _

Problem is- wait no, that’s the opposite of a problem actually- he’s pretty sure he’s not the only one having to remind himself to keep this professional with the way Diaz’s eyes linger on him and keeps swallowing hard around the lump of lust in his throat.

_ Fuck me _ , Buck whines inside his head, or begs, or pray, or  _ something _ , undignified and absolutely wrecked and-

Diaz gulps, eyes going round, head shooting up and  _ noooooo  _ Buck must have said that out loud like the idiot he is but-

He seizes the opening, jabbing at the space between Diaz’s arm and torso, relishing the  _ what the hell you’re doing  _ expression on Diaz’s face mere inches from his own and pulls the staff up, to his armpit using it as a hook and lever to throw Diaz down to the mat-

Of course, he’s quick to roll around, one knee on the ground and near ready for Buck coming at him- but  _ near ready  _ isn’t ready and Buck’s bo staff finds his jaw line, stopping an inch from his stupid attractive stubble that Buck wants to feel against his lips and cheeks when he fucking kiss Diaz.

Diaz’s looks down at the bo staff for a second, licking his bottom lip, before looking up at Buck and fuck, hey’re both breathing like they’ve run a marathon, like they just had the best sex of their lives, and are still caught in that insaly intense eye contact Buck can’t escape or want to, heart pounding in his chest. 

Diaz’s fucking bits his lip and yes, that’s lust and awe and something else in his eyes, something Buck didn’t expect to see, or _ feel himself _ .

Peace. Understanding. Balance.

Around them, people are cheering and applauding, and Buck’s embarrassingly reminded they have an audience.

“Three-two,” he says on automatic, shy and breathless, before he sheathes his make-believe sword again. He takes several steps back away from Diaz, who’s still half kneeling on the mat in a really strange, really sweaty proposal.

_ Look away, look away _ , Buck begs him. ‘cause he can’t, so it has to be Diaz. 

Even now, even though Buck struggles to regain his composure, he can’t look away and Diaz seems to be in the same predicament, the both of them locked together.

They continue with the fight, but this has morphed into something else. They’re not showing off anymore, not trying to knock the other on his ass, not even trying to win, not really. Strikes are blocked, jabs are evaded, both mixing styles and adapting, anticipating.

In sync.

Not that Buck forgets it’s his only chance to force Bobby to let him in a Jaeger again. He cranks it up and Diaz follows, quick and sure, hitting and stepping out, letting Buck impose the new pace like he understands. Immediately, Diaz forces Buck into the worst leg work out of his life, going at them without pity.

It takes Buck a second to realise that Diaz is proving a point to Bobby, showcasing to him and everyone that Buck’s leg is just fine as he evades blows and swipes to them -jump, _ jump  _ , roll away, twist and run-, strong and quick on them. Sure, Buck’s footwork is not as graceful or as perfect as Diaz’s, but that’s okay, Buck has always been more of a brawler anyway.

He’s ready.

He has been ready.

Anyone still sharing Bobby’s concerns about Buck’s leg is getting a demonstration of how wrong they are.

It gets heated again, Buck’s grateful for Diaz, for this, world fading away to blows and counters, groans and near misses, hyper aware of the other and his boby-

And then Diaz gets in his space, really up close and personal. Buck can feel the itch of his breath on his cheek,  _ on his lips  _ , barely registering Diaz’s grabbing his arm and twisting around- he throws Buck over his shoulder and sends him flying like he weighs nothing.

Buck hits the mat hard, breath going out of him with an undignified  _ ooof _ , distantly aware of Maddie’s too loud “Buck!”, but heart sets on Diaz’s grin, feeling faint just looking at it.

When he shakes his head, refocusing and ready to get back to it, he notices Diaz’s bo staff waiting by his nose.

_ Oh yeah, that. The fight. This fight. That we’re into. That’s important.  _ Buck’s not even mad -expect madly turned on.

He gets up swinging, not leaving Diaz the time to say “three-three”, swinging and swinging and Buck is so enjoying this, this weird give and take. 

(And there this moment, both of them out of reach, panting and sweaty, eyes locked, aligned, binary stars in perfect balance... Buck feels it in his soul and it’s too much, too fucking much)

He tilts his head at Diaz,  _ come at me  _ telegraphed by his entire body, needing to finish this, one way or another. They go at each other like two knights with swords, grunting and throwing everything in this, but they’ve reached their point of equilibrium again, never finding an opening, only each other, blow rattling their arms, breath ragged, both hungry for more. 

It’s hard to fight someone that’s in your head,  _ and how crazy is that?  _ They’re not even in a Jaeger yet and they’re drifting.

Cuts and jabs, blocked and evaded, and Buck can’t get enough of this, bo staves crossing again and again and again. 

Buck nearly knocks Diaz’s staff out of his hands, but the man is resilient and stubborn and rolls away, swiping at Buck’s legs as he gets up, forcing him to jump as high as he can... but it’s too late and Buck knows it before he hits the mat.

Diaz throws himself at Buck’s unbalanced landing like a raging bull, tackling him, and somehow in the flurry of limps, of them fighting to come up on top, Buck ends up on his shoulder blades, legs spread with Diaz in between them, his ass nestled a few inches below Diaz’s groin, ridding one of his thigh and bo staff right against his throat.

Even if Buck could move, he wouldn’t, eyes still locked with Diaz’s, neither of them pretending not to feel this connection between them, Buck’s labored breathing or the slight hip thrust Diaz makes against him.

Buck wants to feel everything and-

“ _ Enough! _ ” Bobby’s voice is like a bucket of water on him and his ass hits the mat hard when Diaz drops him, feeling the effect too.

There are some applause again, and Buck -if this was anything else than a cosmic event- would be throwing cocky winks at everyone despite his loss, but… he’s rattled to the core and for the first time since the fight started (minutes, hours,  _ eternity _ ) fear fills up his insides like lead. Before he knows it, he’s back on his feet, standing at attention, years and years of training and the desperate need of making Bobby proud overtaking him.

Somehow Diaz is more relaxed, sweaty arm flush against Buck’s, grounding him.

“I’ve seen what I need to see,” Bobby continues.

It’s impossible to guess what he means by that, despite Buck having been raised by the man and sharing his head for half a decade.

“Me too,” Diaz pants, still grinning, and he puts his hand at the juncture of Buck’s neck and shoulder, thumb digging in slightly. at that. “He’s my co-pilot.”

Buck’s heart missing a beat, eyes fluttering, both at his words and his damn fucking hand on his sweaty skin, the maddening point of contact that he needs desperately. And God, _ no, no, no, no,  _ their eyes meet again and he’s lost to it,adrift, before he’s found by the same…  _ complete, Earth shattering understanding. _

“That’s not going to work,” Bobby refuses and Buck bristles at how reasonable he sounds, despite being proven wrong so thoughtfully. 

He’s not the only one, as the crowd radiates surprise and disapproval at Bobby’s words. Small mercies.

Diaz looks away from Buck to Bobby, frowning hard in confusion and anger flushing his face. 

Without the steady connection with Diaz, Buck drowns inside himself, waves and waves of pain and shame assaulting him until there’s no air, no lifeline, alone and abandoned by his father.  _ Nothing is ever going to make him see reason _ , Buck realizes choking on bile, just as Bobby makes to turn around and away, Maddie’s face torn in outrage.

“Why not?” Diaz calls loudly.

Bobby’s shoulders tense, fists balling up at his side. “Because _ I said so _ , ranger Diaz. I made my decision. Report to the Shatterdome in two hours and find out who your copilot will be.”

And with that he’s gone, Josh and Maddie after him, his sister throwing Buck a last  _ I’m so sorry  _ over her shoulder that Buck accepts with a slight nod. She tried, and that’s nearly enough for Buck, that someone tried for him. Stuck up for him. He knows Maddie never wanted him in a Jaeger either, how hard it was for her to see him walk into danger, but she never stood in his way because she couldn’t handle her fears for him.

Diaz is still looking at the way Bobby left and Buck shakes his head, trying to free his mind from the last shreds of hope, now feeling more sorry for himself than he ever has.

That was the thing about cosmic events.  _ They always pass.  _

He makes his exit quickly, grabbing his clothes and his boots and shoulders his way through the crowd, evading Hen and Chim’s concerned eyes, before he rounds a corner and starts running, naked feet hitting the the cold cement floor, tears streaming down his face and throat constricting around his windpipe, making it so hard to breath.

All he ever wanted was to make Bobby and Maddie proud, to kill Kaiju and make sure all he and his sister went through, all they have lost, didn't happen to another kid. 

A wave of nausea hits him. _ Useful  _ . That’s all he ever wanted to be. He always thought it wasn’t that much to ask, even if it was so damn important for him. Just… useful.

Now he’s not even that.

And if he’s not useful, if he’s not fighting in a Jaeger,  _ then Buck is nothing _ .

  
  



	3. drift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter count went up im sorry
> 
> as always a big gigantic THANK YOU to @unhealthy-amount-of-obssession on tumblr who's the bessssst

Funny how Eddie had not been able to look away from Buck until Marshal Nash had pissed him off. Eddie just- he felt weak in the presence of the other man, okay? But not… not bad weak. No, worse. _Dangerously weak,_ like he had never really let himself be in a long time, soft and centered and needing more, his guts telling him something his heart wasn’t ready to hear. He couldn't look away from Buck. Didn’t want to.

And then he did, Nash’s words crashing into him, taking all of this- _this fucking hope_ away. And the second he did, the second Eddie reaped himself away from Buck’s orbit, the man had fucking disappeared, gone

gone

_gone_

_-burning smoke, left shoulder dislocated, the skin of his arm cooking underneath his suit, his head bang up and no air left in his lungs, coughing still. H couldn't see shit through his helmet, the visor so cracked it was opaque and useless-_

_“Eddie you better hold the fuck on,” Lena shouted-thought-begged on his right._

_He closed his eyes hard and knocked the spider-web-like cracks blinding him, feeling sharp pieces rain on his face and he shook his head before reopening-_

_“Where the fuck-” he couldn’t see the Kaiju anywhere on the radar screen and glanced at Lena’s face, mirroring his own concern._

_“Be ready wit-”_

_“-with the canon,” he finished, almost smiling at how bossy she always was, but the pain was a little too much for that and he looked back at his screen, muttering a quick prayer to something he stopped actively believing when he was young but still had arguments with on a daily basis._

_The pain was sudden as the screech of claws against metal as the pain oh my god the pain the horrendous pain through his entire body his head splinted in two in three in ten his heart crushed by his ribs by his armor his shout cut off and-_

_breathing he was breathing he was breathing and not breathing he was alive and dead and he looked right to Lena but Lena wasn’t there_ Lena wasn’t there _just a gaping hole in the conn-pod and pain ungodly pain and the hole inside his head the missing matching beat of her heart of her sharp mind and-_

Eddie blinks. Still there, naked feet on the mat. Still alive despite the pain. Still alone with his loss.

*

He looks for Buck in _Saint_ ’s conn-pod first, but he’s not there, which now that Eddie thinks of it, isn't a surprise. His father told him loud and clear he wasn’t getting back in his Jaeger ever again, that even his best -the best Eddie had seen in years!- wasn't good enough.

Of course Buck’s not gonna come here after being publicly told he’s unworthy of it.

Eddie can barely think over the drumming in his head, against his chest. Buck’s quarters, shit- that’s where he should have started. No one likes a door that locks better than someone heartbroken. They’re right across Eddie’s, which is convenient and stupid and-

“ _Get a fucking grip_ ,” he throws at himself, passing his hand over his eyes and rubbing at them. He can almost feel Buck underneath his skin, which is insane, but at the same time… perfectly reasonable.

He gets out of _Saint_ , ignoring the J-techs milling around the Jaeger with their tools and matching jackets, getting ready for the test. And that too he ignores, that nasty feeling in his stomach that in less than two hours, he’s gonna be strapped in with one of those idiots recruits, so he can just fail at drifting with them, when Evan Buckley is _right there_ and going to waste just because Marshal Nash is too much of a coward to let his son out of his sight.

_This can’t be fucking happening._

Eddie wants to go to him now, but a glance at his watch makes him it’s bedtime in Texas, which means Eddie is getting late for his daily call with Chris. Despite the urgency to talk to Buck, Chris comes first and Eddie passes Buck’s quarters and unlocks his own, taking off his jacket and his boots as fast as he can, and plugs his phone in its charger. He immediately dials his Abuela’s number, hoping the connexion won’t be as bad as it has been in the past few days.

They pick up at the second ring, the screen filling with the pixelated face of Chris and Abuela and Eddie’s breathing easier, body relaxing as he tries to comb his sweaty hair with his finger to look at least a little presentable.

“Hey mijo! Hey Abuela!” he says, enthousiasm and joy genuine despite… everything else.

“ _Edmundo_ , you’re late!” she admonishes without heat as the image gets progressively better, just as Chris shouts, “DAD!”

“Sorry, sorry, I was looking for- uh, that’s not important. How are-”

“How was the combat trial?” his Abuela cuts, ruffling Chris’ hair as she asks.

Eddie winces, before he schools his face, hoping he’s still a pixelated blur for them. “Eh, you know. Not bad... considering,” he lies for Chris’s benefits. His Abuela is too sharp not to know the truth behind his words. “How are you guys?” he asks after a beat, desperate for good news.

As always, Isabel gets it, _gets him_. “Ooooh, we went to the zoo with Shannon today,” she gushes, propping the phone at a different angle so Chris is better centered.

Chris laughs, and Eddie can almost see the sparkles in his eyes despite the low quality of the video. “Yeah! Mom gifted me a lion plushie!”

Eddie’s glad. So far in land, the world could almost be normal. Not that it will hold, not if they can’t close the breach for good, but Texas was far better than California for Chris and Shannon. Moving there meant Chris had the luxury of a pretty normal childhood. Eddie had joined them there after Lena’s death and tried to rebuild something with Shannon, but that bridge was truly burnt. Years of Eddie’s taking decision for the both of them, shutting Shannon out and leaving her to raise Chris mostly by herself- in the not so gentle care of his parents- had left many, many scars on the both of them, and when Eddie had showed up, Shannon had finally crumbled under the weight of it all and left. She had only recently reentered their lives and while Eddie had to be cautious, Chris needed his mom.

“How are you dad?” Chris asks way too quietly, like he can sense Eddie’s mood ocean and continent away.

“I’m good. _I miss you lots_ ,” he says, hand going to his Saint Christopher medal underneath his shirt.

When he was still serving, seeing Chris wasn’t easy. Anchorage is a long way from El Paso after all, and Kaiju kept on coming and coming without any thoughts of Eddie missing his kid obviously. So Eddie missed Chris and Chris missed him. That had changed when Eddie was retired to years ago: during that time, he had gotten used to waking up in the morning with Chris climbing in his bed because he was hungry or wanted cuddles, to picking him up from school and playing with him, to teach him everything and nothing, to just be with him. And just a week without it, without his son, is wrecking Eddie.

“I miss you too!” Chris shouts, the sound quality making Eddie wince, but he doesn’t care at the distortion or the volume, needing this like air.

“I’ll come back as soon as they don’t need me here,” he promises.

Chris nods enthusiastically, before the image freezes mid movement, leaving Eddie to wait for the connection to get back to normal.

A good minute passes, static his only companion. 

The call reconnects as suddenly as it lagged, “-see Buck today?” Chris asks and Eddie has to chuckle as Chris shoves his _Hollering Desert_ and _Flashfire Saint_ action figures to the camera, realizing that they probably were talking to him the entire time.

And yep, he did see Buck. _Fuck. That’s not a conversation appropriate for an eight year old._

“Yes, I saw him,” Eddie says, before he frowns at the _Hollering Desert_ toy. “Is that a flower crown on the head?” he asks, eyeing the pink hair tie with little yellow flowers stitched to it, now gracing the Jaeger head.

“YEAH! ‘cause I tried to make a real flower crown but Mom said it was gonna rot and you and auntie Lena deserved better so she bought me hair ties!”

Eddie laughs, full belly laughs, joy and longing threatening to overcome him. “That’s very nice of her. But- I’ve gotta ask bud, why does my Jaeger get a flower crown and not _Saint_?”

“‘cause _Saint_ has a helmet!” Chris explains like Eddie’s the silliest, patting his pockets for- a freaking firefighter helmet. He puts it on the Jaeger head with some difficulties, the size wrong. “Tadaaaa!”

“So I get a flower crown and Buck’s Jaeger gets a cool helmet, uh?”

“Flower crowns are cool, Edmundo,” Abuela says. 

“So cool Dad, ”Chris nods along enthusiastically. His glasses fall on his little nose a bit and Eddie long's to righten them and ruffle his hair.

“I’ll have to trust you on that,” he says, shaking his head, imagining coming home, world saved and future secure. Chris could make him flower crown all day everyday and Eddie wouldn’t mind. “Buck would appreciate you keeping up the theme, I’m sure.” Eddie chuckles at that, Buck would be positively vibrating with excitement. 

(He probably has a firefighter kink or something)

“Can I talk to him?” Chris asks excitedly. “ _Did he sign the poster yet?_ ”

“He is really busy and no, I haven’t had the occasion to ask just yet. But I will do, don’t worry about it.”

Chris smiles, “It’s okay Dad, I know you're busy saving the world.”

 _Doesn’t feel like I am_ , he thinks bitterly, but forces a smile for Chris. “Thanks mijo. Now, where were we in _How To Train Your Dragon_?” he asks, picking up said book from his bedside table, pretending he doesn’t religiously put a bookmark where they stop each night.

It doesn’t take much for Chris to be fast asleep, especially since he spent the day at the zoo, and Eddie watches him sleep for a few minutes before saying goodbye to his Abuela.

She looks sad- sadder than usual; sadder than when Eddie showed up with his PPDC brand new uniform all those years ago, marching orders deep in his pocket; sadder than when he woke up at the hospital, arm burnt and scarred up, asking, then _begging_ for Lena, for all this to be a bad dream. 

“Come back to us,” she asks softly, voice wobbling with how hard she’s containing her tears.

He can almost feel the sign of the cross she always insists on doing on him when he leaves her house, be it for deployment or for a grocery run, fingers lightly touching his forehead and his chest and cupping his cheek with so much love it’s choking him.

“I’ll always fight to come back to you guys,” he swears.

She nods, but still says, “I wish you didn’t have to.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too Edito. Talk to you tomorrow.”

When the call disconnects, Eddie lets himself fall back on his bed and closes his eyes, a mess of emotion storming his head and his heart. To make good on that promises, he needs-

_Buck!_

Shit shit shit, he shoots back up, stumbles, hits his knee on the bedside table and shouts, dancing on one foot around the room holding his it, letting the pain receives. He quickly puts his boots back on, checking the time -a little bit more than an hour before he’s expected in for the drifting/piloting test with whoever Nash saddled him with. That’s not much to convince Buck they can fight for this and _then_ convince Nash.

But he gotta try.

He quickly pockets his phone and exits his quarters, crosses the corridor and the mere feet that separate his door from Buck’s and pounds on it, ignoring the eyes he can feel on his back from curious passersby.

“ _Buck!_ It’s me! Open up!” he nearly shouts.

There’s no response and Eddie lets his forehead fall against the cool metal door, the tud reverberating in his entire body.

_Shit._

He’s considering going to the mess hall as a last ditch effort to find the man when the door is opened wide and Eddie nearly loses his balance, only saved by Buck’s hand on his chest, before the other grabs at his shoulders and he’s ushered inside.

Eddie’s eyes are roaming his body without his accord and- fucking hell. He’s not here to ogle but Buck took a shower, the feral smell of sweat replaced by soap and fresh clothes and he looks so deceptively soft like this in his faded red sweatpants and matching t-shirt -or… or he looked deceptively dangerous on the mat and this is the real Buck, curly damp hair and all, toes curling on the cement floor

And fuck, Eddie’s still in his training clothes, dried sweat from their fight on his skin and now really self conscious about it.

Buck closes the door softly, avoiding eye contact and _fuck that_. Eddie didn’t go through all this to have their progress nullified by Nash’s harsh words and refusal to let him copilot.

“What the hell is his problem?” he snarls before taking a calming breath. “I mean, I’m not crazy, we’re- we’re drift compatible!” And the goddamn reverence in his tone? Eddie could do without. _More than me and Lena were_ , he thinks, feeling guilty as he sidesteps the truth and the hole in his head that will forever be shaped like her smile.

He feels too hot for his skin, guilt and want and hope struggling in him, anger rising above.

Eddie never went against a direct order in his life, always the good son, always the good soldier. He needed the clear cut hierarchy, and thrived under it -that’s how he’s been raised. A good little toy soldier pointed at Kaiju and nothing more. Fight, eat, sleep, repeat, and the occasional bickering with Lena after she stole his beer and the girl he’s been chatting up for hours once again. Eddie had been okay with that. He had never been enough as his own, not for his parents, not for Shannon, and certainly not for Chris. 

But in a Jaeger, with Lena at his side, in his head, fuck, for the first time of his life he was enough. _Hollering Desert_ had been the whole Eddie always needed to feel complete. In it, fighting Kaiju, he could protect Shannon and Chris, the rest of his family too. 250 feet and 1850 tons of metals, weaponry and awesomeness were all Eddie needed to feel good enough for his family.

And he lost it. His co-pilot and best friend, the giant suit of armor he needed to save the world… all of it. When the psychiatrists had said he was too traumatized to continue serving, when PPDC higher ups pinned enough medals on his heaving chest that made them feel better and him want to barf, Eddie had nodded and returned to just being a man that could do nothing but watch the world slowly burn.

Now he's pushing for open rebellion for a man he met just a week ago; a man that called him a thief, a know-it-all, that told him he was _a problem_ , and not needed, that took out his anger on Eddie, when Eddie had just been an unwilling participant in the Nash-Buckley drama.

 _What the fuck am I thinking?_ rattles around his head, the part of him made to obey waving a red flag the size of Texas in front of his eyes.

On paper, it’s completely crazy, but when Maddie Buckley had approached him to try and force Marshal Nash’s hands on letting Buck back to active duty, Eddie had immediately agreed. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t regret it. It was bigger than Nash’s love for Buck, bigger than Eddie’s love for Chris. This was the world they had to save, and for once, it implied going against orders, Eddie was gonna do it.

In front of him, Buck’s eyes are puffy and red. 

Before Lena’s death and completely losing it, Eddie doesn’t think he had cried in front of someone else since he was four and his father told him to suck it up like a man.

And there it is, the knee jerk reaction of looking away. Eddie wasn't socialized or raised to show weakness of any kind, or respect anyone that did. He's been trying to unlearn that all his adult life since it played a huge part in his and Shannon divorce and he can't stomach the idea of passing down that kind of emotional baggage on Christopher.

Buck though... Every emotion, every heart beat is loud and clear on his face, in his eyes, in his voice, either impossible to conceal or he was never taught to repress them. Eddie wishes he could relate.

He feels the need to wrap the other man in a hug. He doesn’t, he’s not… foolish enough, but damn if he wants to have that kind of relationship with him already. He hates it. Loves it. Want it to stop. Want it to start for real already.

_I’m going insane._

Still, Eddie doesn't know how to make him feel better beside grabbing his hand to drag him to Nash's office to shout at him together. Anger is easy, especially in a world like this one, in ruins or rapidly getting there, no control, no future, no hope. 

Anger has kept Eddie afloat since Lena was ripped out of his head and his ability to be enough for his family was taken away. He loved being there for Chris, loved being a parent and an actual father instead of a picture on the wall, but… _there was no future_ and Eddie couldn’t do anything about it.

Eddie hates this. Selfishly, he wishes Chris was here. The kid has an uncanny gift to cheer him, to balance him, to bring out the best in him. But the reason Eddie is here and Chris is in the relative security of Texas can't be forgotten for long.

The world is ending.

If Eddie can sway those odds toward hope, he is ready to lay down his life for Chris to have a future.

The world can’t end.

“Thank you,” Buck manages to say after a while of them just awkwardly standing there. “For having my back. I was… I was a fucking ass to you since you got here, I called you a thief and a couple of other things I’m not proud of and you- you had my back still. So thank you.”

He’s still averting his damn eyes, so Eddie gets up to him and puts his hand on his neck like Buck obviously liked in the training room, forcing him to look at him, maintaining eye contact when Buck tries to evade it.

Eddie’s world is blue, _blue, blue_ , like shallow waters on a perfect, sunny day. Eddie just wants to swim in them forever.

“We’re drift compatible,” he repeats, swallowing back the longing and the lust.

Buck smiles a little, eyes crinkling, perfect, but… it's shot like a bird outta the sky. It hits the ground with a muted tud, dead. “Bobby doesn’t care about that-”

And the heartbreak in his voice? It’s breaking Eddie’s a little too. He’ll never be that kind of father if he can help it (if the world doesn’t end). “Your place is in a Jaeger, _with me_. This is worth fighting for.”

Yes, Eddie is aware he sounds like a romance novel heroine that fell in love with some hunky, plaid wearing hot mess of a man with daddy issues. He's ready to embrace it despite the craziness. The world is ending, what does he have to lose?

This connection... fuck it's something Eddie didn't think he could have back. If he's being honest, he didn't think he deserved it after ruining things with Shannon and losing Lena, but damn he wants its so much it fucking hurts.

Saving Chris, saving the world -that’s all Eddie wants. He doesn’t know how he still manages to have some mental space left to care about one Evan Buckley, his pretty smile and blue eyes or if drifting with him would be as effortless as fighting him or- _fuck._ Kissing him.

Eddie doesn’t have the time to worry about kissing Buck. 

And yet.

The world is ending.

 _The world is ending_.

And all Eddie can think about is Buck and his fucking blue eyes and cocky attitude and the softness behind all that, the passion and the will and- all that, Eddie wants to drown into.

 _The world needs to be saved to do that, idiot,_ he berates himself.

“It’s not gonna happen,” Buck says, pulling back, face a mess of pain and blotchy cheeks. “You should get ready for your test. Recruit number five probably will be your guy.”

“Like hell!” Eddie retorts, immediately wincing at the volume of his voice. Part of Eddie still believes in convincing the Marshal. The rest of him knows it’s bullshit. If the demonstration at the Kwoon didn’t convince Nash, nothing will. “Sorry, sorry. We can go to Nash and make our case-”

“No! That’s- Bobby’s more stubborn than we could ever hope to be.” He pauses, looking at Eddie intently now. “And if it doesn't work out, if there’s no third Jaeger… get out of here. Go back to Texas, to your son. The world’s ending-”

Buck doesn’t have to finish. If the mission fails, Eddie would rather be with Chris, hold him, tell him he loves him, that he’s sorry. Odds aren’t in their favor with only three Jaegers, but with two? Chances of success are nonexistent. It would be the end.

“No,” he says, still touched by Buck’s concerns for him and Chris. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll do it myself.”

Eddie still owes his son to try and save the world, no matter what he wants. If he has to pilot _Saint_ alone to deliver the bomb through the breach with _Asclepius Blues_ and _Styx Patrol_ , Eddie will fucking die trying.

Buck steps away, Eddie’s hand falling to his side, no more point of contact between them. “You’ll die.”

“We’re all going to die, Buck.” His words are harsh, but somehow his tone isn’t. “At least I’ll die trying-”

“I wish I was allowed that,” Buck mutters, crossing his ridiculous arms on his chest.

“Yeah.” It’s a strange thing to wish for. But what’s left beside choosing how to die?

Buck looks at him then, shaking his head a little like he can’t believe Eddie’s for real. “You’re crazy. Crazy brave, but crazy still… I would do it, you know. If I could get my gear and the J-techs to go with it. I would steal _Saint_ and die trying with the rest of you.”

“I know. I’m-” Eddie doesn’t get to finish, because Buck’s suddenly all over him, warm hands cradling his cheeks, noses bumping together and mouths not quite meeting but it’s a near thing, heavy lidded blue eyes boring into Eddie’s, stealing his breath away.

“ _I felt it too_ ,” he whispers, lips almost brushing against Eddie’s. “The- the drift. It’s fucking crazy and I-I really want to feel it again.”

It doesn’t take a genius to get what he’s asking for. 

And yeah, yeah, Eddie can do that. Wants that. _Needs that_. The world is ending. The world is fucking ending and Eddie doesn’t want to fail Chris, doesn’t want to die, doesn’t want to go down into the depth of the Pacific ocean alone or worse, with someone he doesn’t trust in his head. He doesn’t want to be alone when Buck is right there and made for him, as crazily as it sounds.

“You gotta drop the Diaz, though,” he jokes, overwhelmed.

Buck’s head falls on Eddie’s shoulder, shaking with self conscious laughter. “‘m sorry. I didn’t want- I didn’t want to like you. You’re a thief and all that.”

“If you say so,” Eddie mutters against Buck’s hair, still damp from his shower, reveling in the way the taller man shivers when Eddie nuzzles against it.

Buck clears his throat, straightens his back and stops hiding. “Eddie,” he tries really softly, cheeks reddening with shyness. “ _Eddie_.”

Eddie exhales, liking his name on Buck’s lips way too much, as well as the smile stretching them as he says it. 

His hands are still on Eddie’s cheeks, blue eyes now searching his. “World doesn’t end, I’m gonna require a proper date, you hear me?” Buck says.

Eddie huffs. “I’ll put on my best cowboy hat.”

“You joke, but I could be into that.”

Buck’s lips are chapped. They’re chapped and slightly opened in surprise when Eddie kisses him, soft but there. Eddie pulls back an inch. “Okay?”

Buck’s eyes flutter. “ _Okay_.”

The second kiss isn’t as chaste with Buck responding to it with his entire body, hands abandoning Eddie’s cheeks to settle on his hips and getting them impossibly closer, flushed together like Eddie has fantasized during their entire fight (way before that, if he is being honest). Dry lips meet wet tongues, licking and nipping in turn, Eddie’s hands finding Buck’s neck, his hips, thumb digging into the sliver of skin exposed there between his shirt and sweatpants, wanting more, all of it, all of Buck-

Whose mouth is now descending along the column of Eddie’s neck, chasing the taste of sweat and salt, muttering how he wanted to do that the entire fight too. 

“I need to-” Buck kisses him again, stopping Eddie from continuing whatever plea he was gonna make. When Buck break the kiss to breath, pushing his forehead against Eddie’s, it takes Eddie a few embarrassing seconds to remember what the fuck he was thinking about. “I need a shower before-” he breathes as Buck goes back to worship his throat.

“No,” Buck says in earnest, shaking his head in the crook of his neck, nose rubbing at his pulse point. “ _Don’t need it_.”

“I must reek-”

“‘would have fucked you on the mat if I could have,” Buck chuckles, licking at his skin like he can’t get enough, “you smell hot and perfect.”

“Oh you’re gonna fuck me?” Eddie can’t help it, but his legs open a little at the thought, at Buck’s confidence, at the fucking- _yeah, at the fucking_.

Somehow that gets Buck practically off him, giving Eddie whiplash.

“What-”

But Buck’s looking at him intently and thank God his big, capable hands are still on Eddie’s hips, his eyes glazed over prettily with a fetching blush on his cheeks. “I don’t think I will,” he says, licking his lips, fingers inching up Eddie’s black tank top so he can touch his sides. 

Eddie would be surprised if this wasn’t the most confusing combination of words and actions ever. 

“What.” 

( _Stop saying you fucking parrot!)_

“Fuck you that is,” Buck continues and his hands leave Eddie’s sides, breaking him, to gently cradle his face, killing him. “Not just.”

And oh, Eddie gets it, the soft, open expression on Buck’s face like a gentle nudge of understanding. _This isn’t just sex for you either. This isn’t relieving tension. ‘m not the only one affected by this_ , he thinks, the entire body sagging from relief. _Good._

The world is ending, he shouldn't have the emotional capacity to care if this is just a hookup, but Eddie cares. And needs. And deserves. And apparently is given all that.

So he gives back, because Buck deserves this as well. “When-” he chokes on the word of affirmation here. _When,_ not if. _When_. “When it’s over, I really am taking you to a proper date.”

Buck smiles. Soft and sad and glorious, his thumb brushing at Eddie’s bottom lip. “I’d like that.”

His eyelids droop and he leans a fraction closer, their noses touching, just breathing the same air, not kissing, enjoying the peace and the quiet, the hammer of their respective heartbeat, like they have all the time in the world.

(An hour, perhaps even less. But it’s good to pretend they have more- to hope beyond this reprieve)

Eddie closes the mere inch between their lips, kissing Buck in earnest.

Gentle hands turn demanding and Eddie kicks off his boots, a stupid game of equilibrium that Buck indulges with a smile as they kiss, his hands holding up Eddie when he nearly fall on his ass in his hurry and refusal to let go of Buck’s mouth.

When he’s done, Buck fists his hands in Eddie’s tank top, eyeing his chest and biting his lip, hunger radiating from him in waves Eddie is begging to ride. He’s hauled even closer, Buck using his clothes to reel him in like a fish, before his fingers hooks in the belt hoops of his fatigues, pressing chest to chest, hips to hips without any space left between them. Eddie feels every hard inch pressed against his own dick.

Buck’s left hand cups the back of his head, holding him still, Eddie lost and found in pools of black lust circled by blue. 

Buck kisses him deep and wet, Eddie answering in kind, his hands finding their way under Buck’s faded red shirt and the plane of hard muscles hiding there, nails digging into his back. Buck pulls back, groaning, breathless, knocking their forehead together.

“Shirts,” Eddie manages to get out. “ _Pants._ ” He doesn’t know if it’s an order or a plea, doesn’t care, just relieved when Buck nods.

Despite his approval, _Buck isn’t exactly helping_ , uncooperative to boot, kissing and touching and whining when Eddie tries to take a step back to get rid of his clothes. He clearly doesn’t want to stop touching Eddie, desperate for him in a way no one has ever been.

It’s heady and crazy and so. damn. fucking. good. Eddie can barely handle it.

Somehow, they end up shirtless and on Buck’s bed. Eddie half lying down, Buck above him, straddling his thigh, a hand enthusiastically cupping Eddie’s dick through his fatigues, kneading it.

“ _Letme_ -” he groans and Eddie just nods, helpless and not fucking caring what Buck wants as long as he manages to get the taller man out of his stupid stupid stupid sweatpants because Buck obviously has nothing underneath and the faded _Saint_ logo on the leg is taunting him a little.

“Whatever you wa-”

Eddie’s phone goes off, startling him and he stumbles off the bed like he’s been hit, Buck’s confused face making him wince as he pats his pockets for the blaring phone, Abuela’s ringtone so loud and her name glaring at him on the screen.

Buck still looks kind of disappointed and Eddie quickly explains that this is his Abuela and God, the urgency in his own voice makes him sick, the worry in his belly like sour days-old coffee threatening to make its way up and out.

 _What happened? Who died? Which city is being destroyed?_ All raging in his head. _The world is ending, how could I forget? What right did I have to forget?!_

Eddie accepts the call and puts the phone to his ear. “Abuela? What- are you-”

“Dad?”

“ _Chris?_ What- Mijo what happened? Are you okay, why do you have-”

“I had- had a nightmare,” his son says weakly, voice shaking with suppressed sobs.

Eddie’s strings are cut off at that and he gingerly sits on Buck’s wobbly desk chair. “I’m here.” It’s not a lie, but it’s so fucking far from reality it might as well be. 

(He’s always been this fucking useless. Not enough. Not here. Not- _just not_ )

“I couldn’t find you,” Chris hiccups, “I couldn’t find you, you were gone with auntie Lena. I’m- I’m sorry, I went into Abuela’s room to- to take the phone.”

“It’s okay mijo, that’s fine. If you need me, you need me.”

Beside him, Buck shifts on the bed, away and awkward, eyeing the door like he wants to give some privacy to Eddie -but Eddie’s a selfish asshole and puts his free hand on Buck’s knee and mouth, _please stay_ at him.

Buck nods slowly and settles back, putting a pillow on his lap, hiding his crotch and the flagging erection tending his sweatpants like his glorious indecence can be seen from Texas.

God he’s ridiculous.Eddie can’t help but notice the small wet patch at the tip before the pillow shields it from view and he looks away, mouth watering.

“I don’t want you to die,” Chris says with a bluntness only a kid that has been put through too much already could say.

“I won’t-” Eddie stops himself. Promises he can’t hold means nothing to Chris. “All I want is to come home to you, always. I’ll do everything in my power for it.”

“And- and save the world?”

“And save the world,” Eddie says, sounding like he’s begging some higher power for it and close to tears while doing so.

“I love you dad.”

“I love you too mijo. You- you good to go back to sleep?”

“Yeah. I’m… I’m good. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course. We have to finish the book.”

Chris giggles and the call disconnects.

Eddie closes his eyes, retracing Chris’s steps through the house, from Abuela’s room, to the long corridor, to perhaps the kitchen for an illicit night snack that Eddie is guilty of indulging him too much because of puppy eyes, to his bedroom and his bed, little eyes closing and not having a nightmare fueled by Eddie’s more than possible death for the rest of the night.

“God you’re so good with him,” Buck praises, starling Eddie. When he looks at Buck, the other man is giving him what can only be heart eyes and Eddie feels himself blush. “Like seriously, what we talked about in the conn-pod yesterday? No worry. You’re an awesome father, Eddie. And he knows it.”

Eddie isn’t so sure about that, but Buck seems the kind of man that will argue to the moon and back and pester Eddie into believing he’s enough for his son. He puts the phone down on the desk, maintaining eye contact. “Thanks,” he says.

Buck only looks confused.

“For trying to reassure me about Chris.”

“Dude that’s -there’s no need to-” he tries to brush off. And somehow Buck’s blushing at this, his whole heart on display on his face.

Eddie is aware he doesn’t know much about Buck beyond the basics and a couple of major things, and their chemistry together being through the fucking roof. It shouldn’t be enough. And yet… it’s all sparks in the dark and Eddie can almost see the comforting fire they could both rest around if this, _them_ , is given time to develop properly. That hinges on the world not ending though and how fucking unfair is that?

Before Buck hurts himself blushing so hard, Eddie closes the distance between them once again, using Buck’s surprise at the sudden kiss to grab at the offending pillow on his lap and throw it off him.

He gets on with the program real quick, burying his face against Eddie’s neck, mouthing at the sweat he finds there -and, yeah, okay, this man has a serious case of oral fixation with all the licking, biting and sucking he’s doing right now and Eddie doesn’t think he’s coming out of this room without a few hickeys. He has zero complaints though, because Buck’s mouth is obviously a gift from God himself and by the way Buck’s pawing at his belt buckle, Eddie might die in the next few minutes if Buck’s mouth ends up on his dick.

Eddie forces him to refocus on his mouth, catching him in a filthy kiss, wet and demanding, teeth nipping at Buck’s bottom lip. Eddie feels desperate now, gasping for air.

“Buck-” Eddie begs, unsure what to ask. His chest heaving, face hot and flushed. He can see the jut of Buck’s cock, hard in his faded red sweatpants, and he wants it so bad it hurts.

“Shut up and get those stupid pants off,” Buck cuts him, tugging at Eddie’s fatigues before he yanks the damn belt buckle open. “I wanna suck you,” he says- demands -asks. 

Eddie’s not sure what kind of desperation is coloring Buck’s tone, just certain he needs to get out of his pants NOW and give him whatever he wants, but for a few seconds he just sits there, stunned like he- he swallows, hard, _fuck_ \- like he can’t process, breathing head just at the mental image of Buck between his spread thighs, eyes glazed over as he- _fuck._ Eddie wants so hard it’s ridiculous.

Of course, the second Buck gets off his bed and onto his knees, Eddie knows he’s about to die a not so gentle death. Eddie lifts his hips obligingly as soon as Buck gets the zipper down. He’s always been helpful like that. Buck takes off his underwear at the same time, throwing them away and then tugging at his sweatpants, letting them pool at his feet, revealing powerful thighs and a thick hard cock that point right, the head flushed pink.

Both of them are naked now and Buck drops to his knees. Eyes and attention solely on Eddie’s hard cock, he dares lick his lips.

“This is the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen,” Buck says with a sigh, so goddamn happy Eddie flushes because, _honestly_ , who says that kind of-

He swears, loud as fuck, because he can feel Buck exhaling against the feverish skin of his cock, teasing not a inch away from it.

The visual is too much and he ends up forcing his eyes shut… Buck is an extremely attractive man, but- but on his knees between Eddie’s legs, looking so eager to please? Eddie clears his throat, counts to ten and reopens his eyes, immediately biting his lip because Buck’s still there, a little smug now. 

And he has done nothing but _look_.

Eddie can just look right back at him, hands flexing on the bed by his hips, useless. What the fuck is he suppose to do with them? It’s been a while and he doesn’t know Buck’s bedroom dos and don’ts -can’t fucking wait to be fluent in those- but there’s no time to ask because Buck puts his mouth on him, pink lips engulfing the tip of his cock in wet warmth. _The way he sucks at it_ , careful and gentle, cheeks hollowing a little, eyes half closed, Eddie’s cock an expensive candy to be savored, that you want to last and- and- a silky presses of tongue probing at his slit sends Eddie’s eyes rolling, moaning for it, only catching Buck’s devious smile when he regains some control.

Buck’s still smiling as he takes him deeper, humming now, maddening, and one of his warm hands firmly circles what he doesn't put in his mouth, pumping his cock.

The pressure is so glorious Eddie whines, hips rolling against his will, demanding more even if this is too much. “ _Fuck_.”

Buck happily bobs on his dick a few times, varying whatever he’s doing, too much and not enough, free hand cupping his balls, squeezing them, teeth shyly grazing at the crown, the underneath of his cock licked from balls to tip, tongue swirling, followed by Buck’s hand leaving him, hands going to his thighs, pushing them open even more and Eddie’s eager to help with that too and Buck chuckles, before he takes-

Eddie has to close his eyes and concentrate not to come down his throat, because Buck took it all in his mouth, so fucking deep it should be torture, should be illegal- _God fucking damn it_. 

Buck gets off his cock with a _pop_ , replacing his mouth with his hand to jerk him slowly. “Good?”

“Too- too good,” Eddie accuses, not quite pushing Buck away, because that’s not what he wants but- _but._ He can’t take this for long.

Somehow, Eddie’s hands have migrated from his sides to Buck’s shoulders, to his neck and when Buck nods in encouragement with Eddie in his mouth back in his mouth, Eddie cards his fingers into his curly hair and how fucking better it looks like that, not all gelled up…

Buck makes a sound, something hungry and desperate and Eddie, very carefully, pushes into his mouth, actively fucking it as his hands keeps Buck in place. Now it’s Buck who’s rolling his eyes in pleasure, moaning around his cock and when their eyes met-

_Fucking hell._

Eddie was right. He’s never recovering from this.

They keep at it for a short moment, until a lone finger grazes against Eddie’s hole like a tender promise and Buck stops sucking him, probably guessing Eddie can’t be both fingered and sucked at the same time without blowing.

and if Eddie whines at the loss of Buck's mouth on him, what of it. 

“God you’re like- like something I dreamed up,” Buck says, voice so hoarse Eddie’s cock twitches from that alone. “Lube?” he asks, his finger pushing just a little bit in, dry and _there_ and it fries Eddie’s brain, pleasure zinging up his spine.

“Uh?”

“Eddie, where’s the lube at?”

Eddie blinks at him. “This- this is your room?” and why does that come out as a question? 

Buck looks up from his ministrations, first to Eddie, then around the room, confusion and pink blooming on his face. “Oh, yeah, that’s right.”

Eddie laughs, belly cramping with it, and doubles over when Buck turns indignant, and it’s just so ridiculous because he’s kneeling between Eddie’s fucking opened legs, one finger teasing his ass.

“Stop- stop laughing!” he orders, slapping at Eddie’s thigh.

“I can’t, you’re just- Buck you forgot you were-”

Buck takes a deep breath, but he’s fighting back a smile. “ _Anyway_ ,” he says too seriously, “at least I know where the lube is.” And he stretches, muscled chest and long, thick arm leaning to the bedside table and the small drawer, opening them deftly and fetching a bottle of lube, all the while still rubbing the pad of his finger against Eddie’s hole.

Eddie bits his bottom lip, hips rolling into it, anticipation boiling him alive, whining when Buck takes his finger away to pour some lube on the rest of them, warming it a little before he gives Eddie _this look_ , calculating and disappointed at the same time.

“This kinda feels... cheap,” Buck winces at his own word, then adds, “Compared to what I want.”

Eddie can only nod, quick to decipher what he means.

“But I need-”

“-whatever you can have. I know.” 

How fucking unfair. Eddie wants… a lot. Dates. Fun. Long conversations and arguments. Learning everything about Buck and to be known right back. Drifting. Winning. Laughing until they roll off the bed, until they can’t breathe. What can only be earth shattering sex. More and more and more. Years and years of it. A lifetime of it.

(He's gone crazy. It feels pretty okay)

Despite Buck’s earlier words that he doesn’t want this to be a quick fuck… that’s what they have time for. Nothing is guaranteeing they’ll have a minute left for themselves beyond this hour.

Buck puts his scratchy chin on Eddie’s knee. “ _We better get more_.”

Eddie answers by carding his fingers through his dirty blond hair once again and Buck’s eyes flutter, tugging a little. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

Buck nods, eyes still sad- then Eddie can see the transformation, the slow decision to get what he can have and be grateful for it, the flicker of lust as he quickly glances to Eddie’s dick, then at his face, the smile that slowly stretches his lips. Before Eddie can compute, Buck is rubbing his stubble against his inner thigh, lubed finger finding its way to his entrance, shy and mindful, waiting for Eddie to change his mind and giving him the opportunity to voice it.

Eddie nods, not trusting himself not to moan or to beg. 

(It’s been a while. And not at all)

Buck’s fingers are gentle, just like the man himself. He waits for Eddie to adjust to a first finger, taking time they don’t have, muttering words Eddie can only guess at. The trusts are slow -too slow for Eddie’s taste actually. In. out. Then a caress, perhaps a kiss on his inner thigh or nip of teeth. In. Out. In. Out. A lazy pump of his cock, tight enough to tease, but too loose to satisfy.

Like this, Eddie can feel each knuckle of that finger, going in and out of him. It’s maddening and Buck knows it, looking real proud of himself when Eddie starts half riding his finger.

Eddie whining and begging now, uncaring, shameless and needy for Buck to stop fooling around. “ _Ple-ease_ ,” he gasps, moving his hips in a lazy circle. “Buck I-”

“tsokay,” Buck slurs a little, as he a second finger joins the first, “I’ve got you, Eddie.”

Eddie shakes his head. _It’s not enough._

Thankfully, Buck seems to get it, smiles and takes pity on him. He takes out two fingers and puts three back in, crooking them slightly and dragging the pads against his prostate, eliciting a guttural moan from Eddie.

Eddie is panting, covered in sweat and rocking his hips, properly riding the fingers now and Buck is into it, looking up at his face, looking at Eddie with hunger and reverence, looking like he’s memorizing his expressions, what he likes. Looking like he’s planning to live on this moment.

“Let’s-”

Eddie nods enthusiastically. “Yeah. Let’s.”

Buck gets up on shaky legs, having been on his knees for quite a while, bending over to keep his fingers in Eddie like he can’t stop pumping them in and out.

In. Out.

Eddie’s toes are curling in his fucking socks. He gets his hand at the back of Buck’s neck, getting him close enough to shove his tongue in his mouth, fingers curling in the wild hair curling at the back of his head, holding him there, kissing him until Buck whines and the mattress dips with one of his knees.

“Gonna need- fu-fuck- need you to move- Eds,” he pants in between sharp, hungry kisses.

And yeah, he does. Eddie moves then, fucking himself in earnest on Buck’s fingers, making the other man moans. 

In. Out.

“No- on the bed, jackass.”

Eddie laughs but does as ordered, letting go of Buck’s hair so he can twist around the bed, sprawling length wise instead of the sitting position he was in, forcing Buck to let go of his ass.

“Like this? Or, uh, on my knees-” he ask, feeling stupid blushing on his cheeks.

Buck’s unlubed hand falls on his chest, not keeping Eddie down on his back with any kind of force beside his wild eyes. “I need to fucking see you.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s- okay.” They're on the same page for this.

Buck’s quick to find a condom, but with his lubed hand and his reluctance to clean it on his bed sheets -which is ridiculous!- Eddie’s the one to open the foil packet, stamped PPDC like everything in the base, Eddie and Buck included.

Everything about this is ridiculous. The suddenness and how so fucking right it is. How much Eddie needs Buck in perspective to the fleetingness of this moment… ridiculous.

Eddie rolls the condom on Buck’s cock and what a fucking pity they don’t have more time, because Eddie’s brain combusts just doing that, and plans overfills the ruins of his mind to fucking torture Buck as good as he tortured him, to get his mouth on him and _taste him._

Later. Later might not come. Later is a pretty wish in the dark. Now is all they have, and Eddie concentrates, and slaps Buck muscular ass. “All fucking set.”

Buck snorts, before he shakes his head and mutters. “God, where have you been all my life?”

_Good fucking question._

Buck fully gets on the bed and it’s an awkward fit, the PPDC issued single bed not made for two grown fucking men, well, fucking. Buck takes hold of one of Eddie’s calf, spreading his legs so he can sit in between them, nails digging in a little.

Both of them are breathing hard, and Eddie- Eddie feels like if Buck was to stop touching him right now, he might break in a million pieces, that they’re only held together by the other’s touch and lingering eyes. Seen and there but so damn brittle.

Eddie takes hold of his own cock, giving it a couple relieving pumps because… fuck, he needs, okay? He needs and he’s going to burst and die.

Buck licks his lips, tracking the movement with his eyes, all black now, blue swallowed by lust as surely as he was swallowing Eddie’s cock earlier, Adam's apple bobbing so hard Eddie wants to bite it.

The hand on Eddie’s calf goes up, under his knee and Buck holds the leg up, shuffling closer to Eddie’s ass until they’re flushed together, until Buck drags Eddie on his lap. When he rolls his hips, Eddie feels the slick slide of his cock against his ass and moans.

Buck’s looking at him dead in the eyes when he begins to push inside Eddie without further teasing, pushing slow and steady until his hips meet his ass. The pressure is fucking intense and Eddie forgot okay? It’s been a while and Buck isn’t on the slim side, but _fuck_. It’s good. So, so fucking good.

Buck’s tight lipped, sweat pearling on his forehead, his face of restraint like the cherry on the top. “You okay?” he grinds out.

Eddie nods, experimentally rolling his hips now that he has something bigger than three fingers in him and it’s so much better. He hums in agreement, continuing fucking himself on Buck, clenching to see him swallow so hard it’s cruelty at this point. “C’mon, move.”

Buck exhales, and _moves_.

His hands are on Eddie’s hips, keeping him high on his lap as he thrust into him, in and out, the first few times short of torturous, in and out, before he picks up pace, in and out and slamming back in and Eddie takes it, rolling against it, into it, bracing his hands over his head and against the wall so he can shove into Buck’s trusts, calling for Buck to continue. 

“Please, _please_ don’t stop!”

It’s brand new and age old, like they’ve been doing this forever and Eddie knows it’s impossible but it fits. They fit. Crazy, crazy he’s feeling crazy and Buck’s not helping with how hard he pounds into him, their eyes locked together, the way he’s breathing like his heart is giving out, like he doesn’t care. 

Eddie crosses his legs behind Buck, forcing him down because kissing him- he needs- his mouth, his tongue, and the taste of desperation and the little puff of breath against his cheek as Buck begins to maul his neck, that oral fixation coming back with a vengeance.

They’re both so warm, sweating like on the mat, Eddie’s hands racking Buck’s sweaty back with his nails, forcing him closer, deeper. Neither of them are touching his cock, trapped as it is between them, rubbed against rock hard abs.

Eddie feels his orgasm comes before long, which isn’t a surprise with the savage rhythm they’re maintaining and his desperation must drag Buck along because he moans in his neck, again and again, hips stuttering.

“Ed-ddie I’m-”

“Yeah-” 

It starts deep in Eddie’s belly, a brutal pressure, rising well past the bearable to finish as a whine against Buck’s temple and shooting up his balls to his cock, hard and unforgiving, splashing their lower bellies. He screams, that much he’s pretty sure about, but as lost as he is to his pleasure, he feels it more than hears it as it thrashes up his throat.

He sees stars, brain dead, glorious, body fucked out and floating.

Buck’s not long after him, the pressure of Eddie’s orgasm milking him for sure and he grunts, teeth firmly on Eddie’s neck as he slams a few more times in him and comes. His orgasm is as loud as the rest of him, even muffled.

His hips moves a little as he shudders above Eddie, whining now and holy fucking Christ that was- Eddie’s ass is still alight, forcing a few groans of _pleasurepaintoomuchstopdon’tstopplease_ from him. 

“Fucking-”

Buck lays on him for a few more seconds, before he shakes himself and pulls out, gets rid of the condom in a last-brain-cell-on kinda move and falls back heavily on Eddie, before he tries to squeeze his massive self between Eddie and the wall. Eddie’s forced to move to let him have some room and grumbles about it until Buck sighs as he drapes an arm and a leg over Eddie. Skin on overheated skin is too much but he can’t let go, snaking an arm around Buck to hold him closer.

He still has his eyes closed and a beatific smile on his face when Buck starts giggling, shaking them and the bed with the force of it.

“What?”

“I knew we would be good at this. Together.”

“You knew shit. You called me a thief _yesterday_ ,” Eddie remarks sarcastically, rubbing his nose along Buck’s pec.

“Can do both.”

“Hmm, if you say so.”

“I know we’ll be good at other stuff, too,” Buck continues, smiling brighter. “You owe me a cowboy hat- or something. Date. With a cowboy hat.”

“I‘ll take you riding,” Eddie promises. It’s sweet to play pretend. “Picnic and stuff.”

Buck opens one eye, eyebrows critical. “A horse?”

It’s Eddie’s turn to giggle like a stupid teenager. “Yeah. Among other things.”

“I’m holding you to that Diaz, cause this-” Buck stops, dead.

Eddie nudges him, before he looks above his shoulder, at what Buck is staring at. 

His alarm clock. Time running out, bubble ready to burst.

“Shit I need to-”

“I know. Go.” Buck looks beautiful and sad. It’s pretty fucked up combo and Eddie kisses him, slow and sweet, like they have all the time in the world.

Buck melts into it. For a moment. somehow he stops the kiss, pecking Eddie's lips one last time before he turn his head.

“I’ll come back. After. If you want me to.” _Please want me to._

Buck chuckles. “Trust me. I want.”

It's better if Eddie doesn't acknowledge how wet Buck's eyes are. “G-good.”

Eddie gets off the bed, stretching, ass throbbing in the best way, sticky sweat cooling on his skin.

“Hey Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Better take a shower before the test run,” Buck says, idly playing with the comforter that is now hiding very little of him.

Eddie _knows,_ but he still frown playfully at Buck, going back to him and putting one knee on the bed so he can kiss the ever loving fuck out of him. “I thought I smelled hot and perfect?” he taunts.

“You fucking do. To me,” he concedes, nuzzling at Eddie’s neck and the slight stubble over his throat, tickling Eddie. “But in less than fifteen minutes, J-techs will be all close and personal with you and you- _you smell ripe from sex_ ,” he says smugly. “I’m sure some of them wouldn’t mind, but that’s not really nice and professional.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, we can do that later,” Buck waggles his eyebrows.

Eddie just shakes his head as he puts his clothes back on, grabs his phone from the nightstand and shoves his feet in his boots. 

When he gets to the door, he turns around to Buck that’s now sitting up on his bed, glorious and naked and Eddie… Eddie just wants to stay with him safe and warm, or to drag him to the hangar and have him suit up so they can crush this drift test like they both know they would.

“See you-” he can’t say it. Can’t hope, can’t lie, can’t promise.

“Later. When you see me,” Buck finishes for him. “It’s okay Eddie, the world is ending.”

And it’s really, really not okay, but Eddie just nods and leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you loved it, kudos and comments are ALWAYS a good way to show it, here, on [tumblr](http://theleftboobgrabber.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/AngryGuii)! Check my [fic tag](https://theleftboobgrabber.tumblr.com/tagged/w) for updates and rambling :)
> 
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